


Le songe

by zealousprince



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: First War, M/M, diary form, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousprince/pseuds/zealousprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first there is nothing, then there is The Dream: a jumbled, fleeting scene blanketed in the same winter snow as the boyhood memories penned in fading ink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le songe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the R/S Games 2013, for team Post-Hogwarts! Thanks to everyone who commented and appreciated this fic during the fest :)

In my dream, there is a dog in the snow.

I should call it The Dream; it is the only one I've had in a long while. That is to say, there are no other dreams. How could there be, in this place, the only Place I know?

It is dark, and damp, and cold. I should remember where this is; surely there are no other places in the world as horrid as this one. But maybe there are, and that is why I cannot remember them: I've been trying so hard to forget them.

In my dream, there is a dog in the snow. It is cold, but not too much.

I think there might be someone else in the dream, but right now, I just can't remember.

=====

_1968  
In a handsome leather-bound notebook with heavy cream paper _

My name is Sirius Orion Black.

I do not really like having Orion in the middle. It is my father's name. I do not really like my father sometimes. But sometimes I do.

Uncle Alphard says I must write about my likes and dislikes and my every day thoughts in this notebook. He gave it to me, so he must know what to do with it. It is my birthday present because I have just turned eight. I was unhappy at first because I thought it was meant for writing lessons. I do not like lessons. But Uncle Alphard smiled at me in the way he does not smile at anyone else and told me that it is not a book for lessons. It is a book for me. I asked him what I should write in this book for me and he said to me that I should write about my likes and dislikes and the things that happen to me and the things I think and anything else I can think of.

Then Reggie started to puff up his cheeks like he had a Swelling Jinx and told Uncle Alphard he wanted a notebook too. I said to him that he could not because he is still a baby who has horrible penmanship and then Uncle Alphard told me to be nice. He said to Reggie that he would get one when he was a big boy like me too one day.

Here is a list of my likes and dislikes.

I like rats and frogs and tea and winter and November because it is my birthday month and dogs and snow and especially the special sloshy snow that happens when it rains on snow. I like Reggie when he is not being a big baby who tries to take my things. I like Mother and Father when they are not making me do lessons and when they are not telling me sit up and wash up and go to bed. I like Uncle Alphard all the time because he does not make me do lessons and because he never shouts and because he tells me it is good to go play sometimes when I should be studying for lessons.

I do not like mint chocolate and spicy things and cats and summer because it is too hot and books and lessons and the carpet at the bottom of the stairs because it always tries to trip me when I come down. I do not like lessons. I do NOT like lessons. I DO NOT LIKE LESSONS BECAUSE THEY ARE BORING. I do not like rain especially warm rain because it makes me feel slimy like a slug. Once when I pretended to be a slug Mother got angry and sent me inside to wash IMMEDIATELY YOU ARE FILTHY SIRIUS ORION BLACK.

That is what Mother sounds like when she shouts. I do not know what filthy means. It must mean something like a slug in the warm rain.

Uncle Alphard also said to write about my every day thoughts so here are today's. It is snowing outside and my room is a little cold because everywhere in London is cold. I am writing with a quill but I do not like writing with quills. They are scratchy and pokey and leave ink all over the page. I would rather be playing outside in the snow.

I cannot think of other things to write so I will stop for today.

S. B.

=====

In my dream, there is a dog in the snow. It is the same dream as always.

I wish I could remember more of it. I have the impression that it is a good dream and that remembering it would be good, but if I think too hard about it, The Dream becomes sharp and suddenly too cold. So I stop thinking and let it drift away, back to where dreams come from. Because I do not want This Place to capture the dream, too.

I half-remember what This Place is. I know it is a place where one goes when one has been caught. But I do not remember what I was caught doing. I do not remember anything from Before This Place.

So I go to sleep. And I hope, and dread, that The Dream will come.

=====

_1971  
In a thick notebook of handmade paper in a deerskin sleeve _

Dear journal,

I have settled into my dorm at Hogwarts. The other boys are ever so horrid. I think some are Muggle-born which is even worse.

The Potter boy is not irredeemable, I don't think. We had a jolly time on the train, even though I stopped talking to him for a few minutes after he told me to stop saying "ever so" all the time. Still, I am ever so glad I met him before the Sorting, because he might turn out to be my only friend here. When the Sorting Hat shouted out "GRYFFINDOR!" from on top of my head, Cissy turned white as the ghosts and looked like she would faint. Then Lucius Malfoy held her hand very tightly and looked at me like he wanted to jump over the table and hex me. I think he is taking his job as Cissy's future husband a little too seriously. 

I am not especially sad to be in Gryffindor but I am not especially happy either, because a lot of the people at my table were looking at me funny while I was going to sit down. At least the common room and dorms are in the tower and not in the dungeons, like the Slytherin ones, which I hear are ever so dank and desolate. I think that is stupid because even though snakes are Salazar's favourite animal, it does not mean that his students have to live so close to the slimy ground. For one thing, snakes are not naturally slimy, unlike slugs, which are.

I am expecting a Howler from Mother and Father tomorrow, because I am sure that Cissy will have sent them an owl by now, and I do not think they will be very happy. In fact, they will probably be ever so upset. I am pretty sure I have just made history as the worst Black in the entire family.

I wonder what Reggie will think. I think I might like him to be in Gryffindor too.

The Potter boy is staring at me like he does not know what writing is. He has been ever so loud the entire evening, but now that everyone else in the dorm is asleep, all he is doing is sitting on his bed and using his wand to shoot sparks at the floor. I think he is the kind of person who does not know what to do with himself when there is nobody watching. I am a little like that too.

The Potter boy's name is James. The other boys in my dorm are Dearborn, Prewett, Pettigrew, and Lupin. As I said, all of them are horrid, though Potter is ever so slightly less, because he is at least sure to be pureblood. Prewett and Pettigrew are from lower families, NOT followers of Salazar, but I suppose I may speak to them if I need to. Dearborn looks like an idiot, and Lupin looks shabby and sickly. I do not think I shall speak to them much.

My candle is burning down so I will stop writing soon. The Potter boy has gone to sleep without changing his clothes. He is just lying there on top of the covers and snoring. Mother would call him "unruly" but I will try to be friends with him anyway, because I do not think Cissy will want to talk to me anymore, and anyway her table is at the other end of the Great Hall.

I will try to write every day. Good night.

Ever so yours,

S.B.

=====

In my dream, there is a dog in the snow, and it is playing.

At least, it seems be. It runs and leaps and rolls, throwing up great sprays of white powder that shimmer in the orange light. I wish it wouldn't run about so, because the more it scatters the snow in the air, the less I can see the figure that stands behind it, just out of sight, as though shrouded in fog.

I feel like I know the person, but that cannot be right. There are no people here. There is only me, and the dog, and the snow that settles around it as it plays. How can I know people when This Place is the only place I know?

Sometimes I think I must be dead. Surely there is no place in the plane of the living that is this lonely, this cold. But then I think: the dog. What is the dog? A dream? Or maybe a  memory. For what are dreams if not memories? What is the field of snow but a remembered dreamscape, a scenery from the memories of the person I once was? And who could the shrouded figure be but the person I have ceased to be?

The Dream becomes more and more confused. The dog barks, jaws wide, without sound. The snow skitters and soars under its feet, flying up like white wings against the silver sky. And the figure appears closer, I think, but is still hidden, cloaked in layers of darkly coloured robes and in the last rays of golden light from across the hilly white landscape.

The dog barks, fearsome and joyful and strong, and suddenly there is sound, a sound that echoes and echoes and rips through my own throat. There is The Dream and then there is nothing again, nothing but the dark and the damp and the cold, and the lingering soreness of the voice I had forgotten I had.

=====

_1973  
In a simple lined notebook with an elegant stamped cover _

Journal!!!

I have just had a day like you would not BELIEVE.

First, business: our half of final prep for Prank #54 went as swimmingly as expected, given Remus' and my meticulous planning and equally meticulous execution. Final execution, however, may have to be delayed as James has proven to be, once again, incredibly NOT meticulous. By which I mean he is a smug, self-important, and supercilious arsehole who is going to someday fall into much deeper trouble than body hair that glows a kind of psychedelic blue.

Lucky for him, James has yet to hit full puberty, so you can only see the glow if you're really looking very closely at his sparse sprinkling of pre-pubescent fuzz.

I am very annoyed with James at the moment. Next time, we shall get Peter to do the Important Thing while James keeps watch.

Now that that's out of the way, I must tell you, dear journal, what happened after James narrowly avoided being turned into a pile of glowing blue ash. We were hiding the ingredients in the false bottom of Remus' trunk (bespelled by yours truly; I had decided on Remus' trunk because he's the best at appearing not at all likely to be hiding forbidden potion ingredients in his belongings) when Peter said all innocent-like, "So Remus, is your mum likely to get sick anytime this week?"

Remus turned and looked at Peter like he had started to glow blue as well, and then looked back at James because James had jumped off the bed and across the room so he could shush Peter with panicked gestures. Which we all know never works with anyone, but this is James we're talking about.

Anyway, as Remus was looking and James was shushing, Peter said, "Well, what? Do you want to just never ask?"

James: "Yes."

Peter: "That's stupid."

Me: "That is rather stupid."

James: "I thought you were on my side, Sirius."

I admit I had been, at some point. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought it WAS stupid, and that if we were really Remus' friends, we should make sure eventually.

It is not that I was not scared to find out the truth (if what we were thinking really was the truth), but maybe I was just less scared than James. He's extremely sheltered, as I've complained to you many times. Even Peter knows more about the world than James does, and HE hardly even goes outside.

Remus said, in the very quiet, slightly frightening tone of voice he uses sometimes, "What is going on?"

Me: "James is being a berk, is what is going on."

James: "I am not being a berk."

Me, smugly: "Berk is sort of your default state."

James ,childishly: "YOU'RE a berk."

Peter, headmasterly: "You're both berks and you can shut up. Remus, we wanted to ask you–"

James like the loudmouth he is: "NO WE DIDN'T."

Peter like the loudmouth James is: "YES WE DID."

Then Remus: "WILL SOMEONE PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE ALL GOING ON ABOUT."

And I said, "Remus, are you a werewolf?"

I don't know why I said it. I suppose it seemed like the right thing to say at the right moment, except it was not right in either sense because Remus suddenly froze up, like he had been cursed, and then slowly, slowly, very slowly turned to look at me.

Now if I know Remus, whenever any of us happens to say something that is just a bit too far off the mark of sanity or sense, he will make this kind of Face that is halfway between exasperation and fondness, and will say something like "That is the silliest thing I have ever heard in my life" or "And I'll go have a picnic with the giant squid, shall I?" or even "Of course I would be happy to spend a day scraping gooey bits of Sirius Black off the walls".

He was not making the Face this time, which was probably the scariest thing of all.

Remus: "What?"

Me: "Well, are you?"

James: "Merlin's pants."

Remus: "Why would you think that?"

Before I could say anything, Peter spoke up and said, "I'm really sorry to just ask like this, Remus, but you weren't telling and we were really worried so–"

James interrupted, because he is a berk, "But you aren't, right? I mean, we'd be able to tell, right? Your mum has just been ill…"

Even James knew it was time to shut up at this point, because Remus was looking at the floor with a look like he was concentrating very hard. James and Peter and I had run out of words to say, so we just looked at him and waited to see how he would react.

After a very long while, Remus looked up quickly and focused on some spot above my head, maybe so he would not have to look at any of us in the eye. Then he said, "I'm sorry."

I don't know about James and Peter, but I was personally very astonished. I said, "Why are you sorry?"

Remus said, "For forcing you to share a room with a werewolf for two years."

So that was it. We had been right after all.

James went back to sit on the bed, but other than him, none of us moved or made any sound. Remus continued to stare at that one spot over my head, which was quickly getting old. So, I went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder to try to get him to look me in the eye. I said, "It's all right, you know."

Remus, morosely: "Of course it isn't."

Peter, comfortingly: "It really is, though."

Me, charmingly: "We don't mind. We're just surprised, that's all."

James made a sort of gurgling, suffering noise, but everyone ignored him. I said, "We'll still be your friend. Right, Pete?"

Peter said, "Yeah."

I said, "Right, James?"

James did not say anything for a while. Then Peter went over to the bed and smacked him on the arm, really very hard, probably harder than he had ever hit anything in his life. James gave an impressive yelp and the blue glow emanating from every single one of his hairs became brighter for a second or two.

James yelped, "Yes! All right! Of course!"

I said, "And I will too, naturally. So you see, it's all right."

Remus still was not looking at me, but after a minute or so, he smiled, ever so slightly, and nodded his head.

So that is how we found out. I would say it's a bit of a shock, but it isn't really. We saw the signs and made our deductions, and as the great Muggle detective has said, once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

Speaking of which, I was going to read "A Scandal in Bohemia" tonight so I will get to that. I'll probably go sit at the window because it's all cool and frosted from the snow, and people are less likely to interrupt me reading when they have to approach a chilly window to do it.

Plus that location puts me at the farthest point from James' distracting blue body hair.

Good night,

S. B.

=====

In my dream, there is a dog in the snow. The dog's name is Padfoot.

I do not know how I know this. Perhaps it is my dog and I have only just begun to remember it.

The dog plays in the snow, running, diving, leaping, treating the field as playground and plaything all at once. It tumbles down a hill, yelping in doggy ecstasy, as waves of snow follow it down. I can almost remember what it feels like to play, to be happy. Somehow, the dog's feelings feel very close to my own, like we have an understanding that transcends the cold and the dark of my prison.

For I know that it is a prison, now. Not that I have remembered the place or the name, but the words   _cold damp dark trapped prison_ have sprung into my mind, and I know I have to store them away, to lock the ideas in my head before they fade away again into the dark non-remembering.

Padfoot is huge and black and free. There is no trace of darkness anywhere in its world save for the black of its fur and the black of the robes of its master, who stands at the top of the hill looking down. I think they are smiling, or laughing. They are definitely calling out, but I still cannot make out the words.

All I know is this: the dog loves its master. As the dog flails in the snow at the foot of the hill, the vastness and intensity of its love warms my prison for just a moment, just the space of a breath, and when I awaken from The Dream my face aches, and I realize that I have been smiling.

=====

_1978  
In a plain staple-bound notebook with faint blue lines _

We've done it. Just like that, we're leaving Hogwarts.

The professors have been making a big deal of our impending graduation for years, but now that it's done with, it doesn't really feel like an event at all. It almost seems too small to be really happening.

Or maybe that's just my state of mind. After all, the hardest part is yet to come.

In a few hours, I will arrive at James' house. We are to go to war.

But before that, I thought I should record these moments for you, dear journal, because something has ended, after all. And endings are just as important as beginnings, if not more.

The five of us were in the same compartment on the Hogwarts Express: James, Lily, Peter, Remus, and I. We had only left Hogsmeade Station half an hour before, but none of us were talking. James was staring out the window and holding Lily's hand very tightly, while Remus had had his hand on Peter's shoulder since the beginning of the trip, because Peter had been trembling and jittering and needed the comfort.

Wormtail has been like that ever since he got the letter last week telling him his aunt and uncle were dead. His uncle married into the family and was Muggle-born. That alone was enough. I wanted to say something to him, lots of things, to reassure him and to let him know that he is safe with us, that we would protect him and his parents too, but Remus looked at me with that face that says to Wait and Be Silent, so I did. Moony knows these things better than I do.

After a while longer, Lily spoke up suddenly, so that Pete startled and Remus had to steady him with a firm squeeze to his shoulder. She said, "I'm so afraid. I can't stop shaking."

James managed to tear his gaze away from the window long enough to look at her with concern. He didn't say anything but he looked afraid as well, but since this is James, he would never say so out loud, especially on front of Lily. I think we all understood, though. We were probably all just as afraid as her.

James squeezed Lily's hand tighter. I wished I could do the same with Remus, but that moment did not seem like the right moment for the conversation that was sure to follow.

James said to Lily, in a voice that was just bit shaky, "Can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?"

Lily said, in a much steadier voice, "All right."

I said, "Get us something from the snack trolley while you're at it."

Lily said, "Sure". They left.

A moment passed after they had gone, a silent moment where even the rails made less noise than usual, then Peter sprung up from his seat, making jerky apologetic gestures for knocking Remus' hand away. He said, "Loo, I need the loo," and fairly ran out of the compartment, the door rattling shut behind him.

Then it was just Remus and I in the compartment. I had the sudden, mad urge to turn into Padfoot, but I resisted. I distracted myself by imagining how Mother would react to finding a great black dog in her home, and smiled a bit, but the smile felt funny on my face, like it did not belong.

I took out my journal – you – to try to write, but nothing came. All I did was stare at the page with my biro in hand, one from the pack of ten that Remus had given me for my birthday.

Eventually, Remus laughed quietly, like a breath.

"Moony?"

"I'm not afraid."

I clipped the biro back on your cover and put everything away. Then I looked across the compartment at Remus, who was looking back at me, but with his eyes focused on some point above my right shoulder.

He said, "I should be afraid, I think. But I'm not."

"That's all right."

"Is it? People have died. We might die."

I said, "We might". What I really wanted to say is "You might" but that was a prospect too terrifying to put into words.

Remus' gaze shifted so that he was looking at me properly, and I could tell that he was thinking the same thing and also leaving it unsaid. We had gotten good at that, saying things without words. It is necessary when you are two boys in love, after all.

I tried to imagine how Mother would react to that, too, but I could not bring myself to smile.

Instead, I reached over and touched the side of Remus' face with two fingers, and Remus closed his eyes to tell me he understood.

Then Peter came back from the loo, his eyes rimmed red from crying and his arms loaded with stuff from the snack trolley, which James and Lily had apparently passed on to him since they would not be coming back from their talk for some time.

The sun is setting now as I write. James and Lily and Peter are asleep, or seem to be. Remus is now beside me and has taken to staring out the window. One of his knees is pressed against one of mine. It is the only touch we allow ourselves right now. We have not told the others yet.

I wish it was snowing, at least. I don't even know if I'll live to see the next winter.

The train rumbles on. We are to go to war.

S.B.

=====

In my dream, there is a dog in the snow. The dog's name is Padfoot.

I am that dog.

For the first time, I can properly see through the eyes of the dog, and know its mind to be the mind of a man. The consciousness is human but the body is canine, powerful, wild, free. The sensation of energy, of near-flight, is almost too much to bear.

The dog's master is human as well, and he is not a master but a man, or perhaps a pack member. He is the only other living thing for miles. In the summer, this hilly field is bare and dry and dead, but in the winter it is transformed. Blanketed in snow, it becomes not a frigid hell but a paradise, a winter oasis of snow and sound.

Snow crunches and slides as the man tries to walk, but he had begun to sink into the drifts and is a little stuck. He curses audibly, though not unhappily, and tries to extricate himself. I run back up the hill, barking like an excited puppy, and bowl the man over into the snow. The man cries out – "PADFOOT!" – but wraps his arms around me as I snuffle against his robes. The man tries not to laugh but it is inevitable, and his helpless laughter rings out across the snowy hills, muffled by the soft landscape.

I pause in my enthusiastic affections and merely lie still for a moment, my head on the man's breast, listening to the accelerated beating of his heart. As his heartbeat slows so does mine, and we lie together in silence for a while as the snow settles around us and the man's hands pass, over and over, through the fur at my neck.

The man says, "It's been ages since we've done this. I've missed it."

I lift my head and tilt it, giving him a doggy sort of look of agreement. The man grins and scratches me behind my ears. He looks exhausted and drawn, but his eyes are brighter than they have been in a long while, and that makes me feel glad right down to my human core.

I wag my tail, feeling it brush snow aside. The man's grin changes to a simple smile. He pushes up into a sitting position, one hand against my chest.

He says, "Turn back for a moment", so I do.

Under the tiredness and the new and old scars, his eyes grow brighter than ever.

He says, "Happy twenty-first birthday, Sirius."

I say, "Thank you, Remus."

He kisses me. Then he says, "Will you write about this in your journal?"

I smile. I laugh a little. And I say, "No. I'll remember."

And The Dream disappears in a rush of white, a blizzard of white and cold and a distant, howling sadness, and I remember who I am for a single, fleeting, blazing moment.

=====

_1993  
On a torn, crumpled, stained copy of the Daily Prophet _

i did it i did it i did it i did it I did it in the village now out of THE PRISON now I must find him I must find PETTIGREW that RAT I MUST FIND THAT RAT TRAITOR WHO BETRAYED JAMES LILY HARRY I MUST find Harry find him before Pettigrew does first at Hogwarts Hogwarts I have to go find Harry find Peter find Dumbledore stop him STOP HIM FROM TAKING HARRY dead all dead all of them I cant find where James Lily all dead I cant give up no I must find him must finish what I started 12 YEARS I MUST finish what I started Peter then Remus Remus I so sorry I lied please please be there please be alive I will find find you I will SB

=====

In my dream, there was a dog in the snow.

I am that dog now. I am Sirius Black, but I am also Padfoot.

My prison is cold and dark and damp, but my body is warm, heated by the desperate strength of resolve, and by the whispered promises of   _escape retribution revenge love_ that I have not been able to hear for a long time.

My dog form shudders but holds, the man's mind keeping a tight reign on the canine instincts. I can feel the Dementors at every entrance, breathing their rattling, mouldering breaths, but they do not feel me as I slip through the bars, as I make my unsteady limping way to the very bottom of the tower.

There are no voices in the prison except for the cries and moans of the other prisoners. Some of them reach out to me as I pass, their dirty trembling fingers beseeching. Perhaps I know them, perhaps they are even friends, but I have no time to think of them now.

I leave the prison and the dankness lifts, just slightly. A Dementor sways past, dangerously close, but it cannot read the dog's mind like it can read a man's, and so it does not see me. I think that I have never been more grateful to go unnoticed in my life.

At the edge of the cliffs is a drop, a prodigious drop that makes my human mind falter even though the canine limbs are growing stronger with every step. I stare down at the churning, swelling thing at the bottom of the cliff and realize that it is water, it is the sea. The salty tang of it reaches me, almost painfully sharp, and in the joy of recognition I let out a bark that is swallowed up by the rolling and crashing of the sea. It is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen.

Way out across the sea, on the horizon, is a line of lights like stars. Land: that is where I need to go.

James and Lily are dead. Many, so many of the people I once knew are dead as well. But Peter is still alive, and Harry, and maybe even Remus.

My canine body tenses, my human mind calculating quickly, estimating the height of the jump. Unbidden, thoughts of The Dream return. I know now that it is a scene out of memory, a scene from years ago, so terribly long ago that I could almost believe that it never happened. But I need to remember that it did happen, that the dog did bring the man out to play that day, that the snow did fall, full and white, upon the hills, and did not care that the dog rumpled its white blanket in its play.

I need to remember that the dog is a man, tied inextricably, inexorably to the other man. I need to remember the two boys in love.

I remember. I will remember.

I ready myself, mind, body, resolve, and make the jump.

**The End**


End file.
